Season of the Witch
by The Whole Sea
Summary: Caryl reunion fic. Rated MA for sexually explicit content
1. Chapter 1

She'd always loved watching people at airports. The warm, low key reunions of family, the long embraces of lovers. The last time she'd taken a plane (God, the last time she'd ever be on a plane, that was a thought) it was the one wistful thought she'd had among all the anxious noise in her head. Airports are full of good ghosts. So much love performed in those banal spaces with soft carpets. It was funny, how she didn't feel anxious anymore. She hadn't in well over a year.

Seeing Rick made her remember thinking about the airport. She looked down at the forest floor, the crumbling leaves a motif in the soft, silent earth. She knew he would be pleased to see her and it wasn't just because of the child, his child. She nudged Tyreese's arm and he turned his back to her so she could haul the sleeping child as gently as she could out of the carrier.

When he'd left her, she'd driven just out of sight and pulled over until she managed to stop shaking. Giving him the watch from Ed, Jesus. At least she'd got a pointed remark in. She dropped her head on the steering wheel and cried at that. At how proud of herself she'd been to get the last word in and to walk away. It was pathetic. It didn't matter how guilty she felt about Karen and David, she had just accepted it without a fight. It was as if she was still under Ed's spell.

She blotted her eyes with her wrist, pinched away the snot from her nose and wiped it, laughing a little, making a shiny mark in the shape of her initial on the passenger seat. Maybe if she'd pushed him he would have killed her. Maybe he'd been planning on it and had changed his mind sometime that afternoon.

He had killed his best friend and what was she to him?

No. She knew him better than decision would weigh on him. He would come to regret it.

She could handle Tyreese. She saw him then. His soft, liquid small searching look he had given her when she had said "I'm so sorry about Karen." She broke down again and sobbed uncontrollably until she was spent.

She slept the night in the car and, in the morning, turned the car around to go home.

Ever vigilant, he walked stiffly towards their little group.

"Rick." she said, just to break the silence, which started Judith fussing.

She soothed the whimpering child as he came towards her. One look between him and Tyreese told him that he knew. With the child held close with one arm he pinched the bridge of his nose to stop the tears. He was too exhausted to think.

Carol put her arm around him and quietly said "It's good to see you." and then Carl was wrapped around her.

The sun had begun to go down. She peered into the gloom as the others gathered around them. They were here! Alive! A couple of faces she didn't know, a glimpse of a stranger she mistook for Daryl and felt her gut twist when she looked again and the big red-headed man stood up.

Each in turn hugged them, kissed them, laid their hands on the sacred head of the child, who had begun to cry in earnest. Moving to calm Judith, she became aware that someone had been holding her hand for a while. Standing quietly beside her, just waiting for the performances to be done. The others melted away, cooing at the baby, and she became aware of him all at once; his body heat, his scent, his grip became tentative and drifted, she clutched at the tips of his fingers, caught them and turned to look at him.

She'd thought a lot about when she'd started to look at him. After Ed, the night they'd left Jim she'd had a sex dream about him that had been so vivid she had felt the beauty spot on his upper lip brush against her inner thigh. She woke up feeling confused and more than a little delirious. She'd put it down to grief but after that she began to notice him looking at her. Her first awful thought was that it was her child that he was looking at, she had come to feel so invisible, but that doubt left when it dawned on her how alone he was. How much they both were. She'd never been a sucker for a pretty face, but God, he was beautiful under all that filth. She'd checked herself the first time she'd moved closer to him to ask him again what he'd mumbled at her, even though she'd heard him the first time, she'd just wanted to breathe him in.

There he was, that beloved face more bloody and dirty than she'd ever seen. A cut that looked as though it might scar on his temple, a scab on his lip. Clearly as exhausted as Rick, he swayed a little on his feet, childlike, his eyes lowered he reached out to paw at her hand, at the hem of her jacket.

"Ha!" she grinned at him, eyes beginning to brim. He looked at her, awake from a dream. He grimaced, rasping out a laugh, or sobs, she didn't know which. The cut on his lip had split open and it began to bleed. He was shaking so much it frightened her.

She reached out and touched his mouth.

"Sweetheart, you're bleeding, " she murmured and wrapped her arms around his waist. He all but collapsed onto her, his arms around her neck, she staggered under his weight, his leather vest creaking.

"Honey, are you okay?" Her maternal tone stopped him. He wasn't a kid. He collected himself, straightened up, trying to control himself. Looked at her again. Framing her face with his hands, shaking his head, laughing, looking into the pale oval of her face, into those eyes that couldn't hide a thing, her lashes wet and spiky, tipped with fat, wet tears. It all felt so unreal. He didn't know what the fuck he was doing when he dragged her back into his chest, breathing her in, running his hands over her, squeezing at her with his hands, petting her hair back from her forehead almost like she was some damn dog.

Crushed against him, she laughed into his neck, her lips and teeth vibrating against his skin and he became aware of the way she fit into him, yielding completely against him, her thighs draped apart a little over his. His hands dropped to her waist and he pulled her up on tip-toes, her back arching to push her hips into his erection. He groaned and held her there, neither of them moving for what seemed like forever.

When he did pull back from her, his bloody lip had stuck to her temple. Gingerly, he peeled it off and the blood pooled fresh and bright again. "Fuck. Sorry"

"What?"

"I'm bleeding all over you, Jesus."

"Oh. Ouch." It was silly. Daryl Dixon probably had one of the highest pain threshold's of any of them. Of anyone she'd ever met. She put her hand on his jaw to turn his head so she could see.

"'S nothin'. Looks worse than it is."

"Won't heal because you talk too much, huh?" She was stroking his cheek now. He smiled, winced.

"Hmm, yep. You know it." He hummed against her palm, closing his eyes for a moment. Thinking about how he'd got it, how he'd given up in that moment, dropping his weapon. He was beyond caring about surviving anymore. Seeing Rick and Michonne...these people were his family, he loved them, didn't he? He'd do anything for them, that was why he'd offered himself in their place. But since she'd been gone, some part of him just wanted to be done with this life. Some part of him welcomed death.

It was getting dark. Wiping his face, blotting his lip against his wrist, he gently pulled away. His voice thick and low he started to say,

"Come eat..." He cleared his throat, " I got a pig today. Come on, there's still something left."

Glad of the darkness hiding his arousal, he walked a little behind her, keeping a hand on the small of her back, as they made their way back to the group around the fire.

After they'd eaten they began to settle into little groups to sleep and take watch. He hadn't left her side all evening and when she settled to sleep he lay down next to her and wrapped his arms around her as if it were the most natural thing in the world. They were exhausted. He wasn't going to dance around this anymore, he knew that much. They were both almost asleep when he whispered her name into the back of her neck.

"Carol."

"Mmmf, yeah?"

"Tomorrow I'll find us a bed."

She squirmed against him, "Yes, please."

Turning her head to face him in the dark, smelling the musk of his upper lip to find his mouth in the dark, she pressed her mouth against his. Her tongue dipped into his mouth and he kissed her back, soft and lazy. She reached back and rubbed her knuckles along his shaft under his jeans and scratched a little at his thigh before rolling away with her back to him. Licking at his blood on her lips, she wriggled her hips so she was snug up against his cock and closed her eyes. He grunted a little in protest, but lay still, eventually sliding a hand under her shirt to cup her breast, plucking softly at the nipple a little before he fell asleep.

They'd left in one of the vehicles at dawn, telling the others they'd be back at camp by nightfall. When they found the A-frame hippy house it was early afternoon the next day.

The mezzanine bedroom was beautiful. It smelled of cedarwood and bed had been made and the sheets were crisp and white. She couldn't believe their luck. It was like a fairytale. Carol stood at the window and looked out at the trees covered in fresh new growth and the sparkling river, tapping the crystal hanging there with her finger, sending little rainbows dancing around the room. She smiled, seeing the little boy in him surprised by the vivid spots of light patterning the room. Above her on the wall was a faded copy of the poster of Nijinsky as a faun. It wasn't hard for him to think of her as other-worldly. He had been in darkness and squalor without her and here she was in this beautiful room, standing against the window like a silver sprite, her hair in the sun a halo, those blue, clairvoyant eyes watching him, with the little spinning rainbows settling like a butterflies all over her. He moved closer to stand beside her, his fingertips resting on a rainbow in the hollow of her collarbone. She picked up a little bottle of essential oil, removed the stopper and breathed it in; ylang-ylang and lavender, it smelled divine. She was about to dab a drop on her neck but he stopped her.

"Don't. I want to smell you."

She put the bottle back on the shelf and turned to face him. He stroked her elegant neck, clasping his hands at her nape and digging his thumbs in to massage the long muscles and tendons there.

He breathed in her ear, " Little hippy witch."

"My angel," she replied, "Take off your clothes."

"What do you wanna do?" he asked her after they'd undressed. They weren't going to have another opportunity like this for a while and as much as he wanted to just throw her on the bed and fuck her brains out, he knew enough about women to know that might not be enough for her. All of his fantasies about her involved making her come. If he was honest with himself he'd been getting to sleep by thinking about making her come as far back as the quarry. That had freaked him out. Rubbing one out thinking about fucking that little mouse. Making her asshole of a husband watch. God, he was a fucking pervert, no wonder he could hardly make eye-contact with her half the time.

She squirmed, shivered, but looked directly at him and said,

"How about I sit on your face and suck you off to start off with? So you can fuck me nice and slow the second time you come?"

Fuck. His mouth watered. She was a fucking witch alright. He wanted to just nail her to the bed right then and there, Jesus she was too much. He pounced on her and pulled her close, kissing her softly, moving his cut lip as little as possible, stroking her tongue with his, nibbling at her bottom lip. Things became heated and she struggled out from under him, pushing him down onto the bed. She positioned herself over him as quickly and gracefully as a dancer, her shimmering thighs tensed as she lowered her pussy to bob delicately against the tip of his tongue.

"Oh, yeah." She murmured, pushing back into his mouth like she was lowering herself into a warm bath.

The way she languidly stretched her arms out along his torso, gathering his cock up in cupped hands, stroking his balls and positioning him before her mouth, it was like a ritual of worship. When she finally began to lick him all over like he was candy, he was seeing stars.

He pulled her hot sweet snatch into his face, holding her ass cheeks as if he were eating watermelon, fucking her deeply with his tongue then settling in to slurp and suckle at her clit. She wriggled slowly from side to side, pushing her ass up in the air as she swirled her tongue around the head of his cock, licking off the surprisingly sweet little tear of pre-cum that dripped from the purple tip.

"Mnn, uh, yum. Mmm, God that's good. I'm gonna come soon, Daryl. I want you to come in my mouth, okay?" She lifted up a little so he could speak, his lips and tongue releasing her clit with a wet pop.

"Fuck, yes. Jesus, woman, are you trying to kill me?" He shifted his hands to her breasts as she took his burning cock into her hot, wet mouth as far down his hard, thick shaft as she was able. She'd barely begun to set a pace when he started to whimper into her, which was enough to send her over the edge, drowning in her juices he pulled her hard up against him and as she shuddered and moaned he filled her mouth with his salt sweet cum.

She caught her breath and climbed off him, turning to give him a filthy kiss with her cum coated tongue, licking at her juices on his lips. He rubbed his soaked scruff all over her face and she yelped, then started giggling as she wiped her face and then his with the corner of the sheet.

He lay sprawled out on the bed, grinning like an idiot. The yellow sunshine slanting in across the bed making her think of him, not for the first time, as a big, tawny cat. She cuddled into his side and laid her head on his shoulder, God she was so beautiful; her face flushed, eyes sparkling, he pulled her close, kissing her forehead. He shifted and opened his leonine eyes and they looked at each other for a long time, just enjoying the afterglow. He was the first to speak:

"'M sorry, baby," he said, finally.

"Hey was wonderful. Why are you sorry?"

"Mm, it was. Jesus... and I haven't even fucked you yet…" he growled and she turned around to face him and wound her arms around his neck, drawing him into a long, slow, erotic kiss, sipping at his tingling, bleeding lip.

"Ungh, fuck, you are going to kill me," he groaned, lying back and closing his eyes while she began to gently stroke his soft cock with her fingertips from balls to tip, over and over.

"Why are you sorry?" she asked again. God, he had missed the sound of her voice.

"We could've…" he started to stiffen again under her fingertips. Her touch felt so good but he caught her hand and held it, he wanted her to hear what he had to say, "we could've been together before now. I just…"

"You weren't ready, Daryl. Maybe I wasn't either…"

"I just thought… I could keep things simple, you know. I was angry when Rick told me he'd left you out there by yourself, but part of me was relieved. Part of me was like, okay, it's happened now. She's gone..." his voice started to falter and she tightened her arms around him, expecting him to stop talking, but he went on, "Thinking I couldn't lose something I never had in the first place, man, what a fucking idiot," he rubbed at his eyes, his voice hoarse.

Carol shifted against him, laid her head on his shoulder thinking about Karen and David. She had killed the woman Tyreese had loved. A hot, wet tear sizzled on his skin. He wrapped himself around her and kissed her forehead.

"We've all done things we regret, baby. I know you. I know you live with it every day. We all do... "

"Yeah, " she whispered, a small wet, sound. She became overcome with grief, thinking of Lizzie and Mika. She started to cry in earnest, collapsing completely into him.


	2. Chapter 2

"I'm hungry," she said, after she'd finally stopped crying.

Daryl hadn't said a word, just held her tight. He hadn't known what to say after hearing about Lizzie. What could he say? It's okay, honey? Something like that sure as fuck wasn't ever going to be okay, Jesus.

He thought about Judith. All of those sacrifices for that little speck of life. Of hope.

"I'll go out to the car, get us something to eat. I saw raspberries on the way in…"

Her face was swollen with tears. He hadn't seen her like this since the farm. Old scars itched, a feeling of failure flooded him. This wasn't how this was supposed to go. Couldn't they pause this fucked-up life for one minute to get some happiness? Some pleasure? His grip went slack and Carol sat up on the bed, sniffling, groping for her clothes on the floor.

She picked up her dirty, stained clothes, wiped her face and blew her nose on her shirt and dropped them back on the floor. He almost suggested that she didn't need to get dressed, but he knew better, even though the fence was high and they'd made sure the property was clear, they always had to be ready, as much as he wanted to watch her walk down the staircase naked, his timing was off.

She walked over to the closet. It looked to have been a nursery, long ago. She looked through the clothes on the rack; just a few, pretty things left. On the wall behind the clothes a faded Hollie Hobby sticker, that strange image of the girl without a face that was so familiar from childhood.

She could feel Daryl's eyes on her as she pulled out the long, silk slip. The colour matched the colours in the sticker, a 70s colour, the colour of pancake make-up. Nude. Peach. Not a colour she would choose, but the fabric felt so good she pulled it on over her head.

He sat up on the bed and grabbed his jeans from the floor, pulled them on.

"You don't need to come. I'll be okay," the truth was, she needed a moment. She'd been coping until now, but the intimacy was too much. She was overwhelmed.

"I know. 'M coming anyway, " he looked her up and down. Jesus, that was some rich hippy's fuck-me dress, alright. The colour and the fit were downright lewd. The tiny, almost invisible shoulder straps made it look as if the whole dress was held up by her nipples. She stood there for a moment, self-conscious. He sucked in his lower lip, swallowed.

"C'mon," he said, grabbing the crossbow and padding down the floating staircase in his bare feet.

She glanced over her shoulder in the mirror. The slip was minimally structured and the drape of the silk clung to every little curve, the colour popped against the burnished skin of her neck and shoulders and made her ass look like a peach. She wiped away the tear that sparkled like a sequin on her cheek and followed him downstairs, fingertips touching on the poster of Nijinsky for luck on the way down.

Fuck it, she wasn't going to waste time dwelling on what Daryl was thinking. He was still here, her half-naked faun, her lion, protecting her from monsters. She winced a little at the ropy scar tissue that criss-crossed his back, glad he couldn't see her reaction. Before this afternoon she'd never seen him bare this much skin in daylight. Never seen him so relaxed. She allowed herself to think that he was in love. A thought that flooded her like an opiate. She felt river sand on the polished floorboards under her long, high-arched feet as they passed through the open plan living area. He ducked under the blossoming vine over the doorway and in that instant his scars looked like branches before the light changed and they walked out into the overgrown garden.

It was Spring, but so hot and sultry it could have been a mid-Summer's day. She opened the passenger door and reached into her pack for their food. The heat in the car was thick, fetid. The water was lukewarm. Looking up through the windshield, she eyed the river at the back of the property.

"Let's cool off by the river, huh?" she sloshed the tepid water in the plastic bottle, starting to straighten up, when she felt his hand on the small of her back.

"Sure," he said, sliding the silk up her back until the hem of the skirt was just covering her ass. Looked at the curve of her milky legs, shimmering with perspiration. He dropped the handful of rucked up material and watched it pour over her legs like paint.

The raspberry canes were covered in fruit and buzzed with life. Bees, new spider webs. He pointed out stick insects to her, a skink. She thought about snakes in the grass under their bare feet and then the thought evaporated. They both picked around the largest new spider web, crystalline and perfect, the spider curled at the edge like a clot of black blood.

They foraged in the weeds and the overgrown vegetable garden, not finding a lot, some herbs, dandelion - he swore by it, but the bitterness curled her toes. Potatoes they would take back to camp. They worked in silence, out of habit.

Taking their food to the riverbank they sat down under a fruit tree covered in blossom. They ate the raspberries and the last of the pig, gnawing the bones clean of every morsel.

"Let's stay here," he said, hooking a finger under the strap on her shoulder, pulling it over her shoulder.

"Stay? Tonight?"

"F'rever," he kissed her shoulder, tugged at the strap and the peach silk curled away like a leaf from the sugar pink of her nipple.

"Yeah?" she leaned back into him, "Shucks, Cletus, y'all think we can be life-stylers?" she teased, an old game.

He sniggered into her neck, tickling her with his straggly beard. Palming her breasts and lifting them up to get a better look at her creamy cleavage, the sweet peaks.

"Yes, m'am. Got me ma shotgun and ma woman, ain't go no mo' need fo nothin' else." It was true. An old dream. A possessive dream. It had stopped him from getting close to her. She'd already had a lifetime with a man who needed to own her.

"The commute will kill us both," she sighed, smiled, fed him a handful of raspberries. She ran her fingers through his tangled hair and watched him eating out of the palm of her hand.

He was the first to see the walker on the other side of the river.

"Tonight, though, huh? We can stay here the night," she said.

"They're staying put for now, they won't move on without us," she added, "They'll be safe, together."

"Sure, baby. We'll phone in sick," he said, a little terse, preoccupied. On his knees, he lined the walker up in his sights, dropped the bow in his lap, looked at her and softened his tone, he said "I want to stay. We'll stay the night."

While he kept an eye on the walker, she lay down in the grass, beside him, closing her eyes.

"It'll never make it," she murmured, brushing a fly away where it had settled on her cheek.

"I know," he said, his fingertips pushing up the silk covering her legs "Can't be too careful, though, hey?"

"Hmmn, yeah, " she opened her eyes and peered through the grass, the walker in the distance. She thought of the spider, twitching out it's web before the morning dew.

"Speaking of being careful… I uh, forgot to bring anything…"

"Didn't hit up our man Glenn, huh?"

"Yeah, sorry. I did have that thought, but it jus'," he mimed a popping bubble next to his ear, "Pfft… gone."

"We won't need anything, it's okay. I can't have any more…" she was trying to keep a tone out of her voice, but he could hear the sadness like a bell, " unless you have a disease."

"I do," he said and moved closer. She pulled her knees up so he could lean on her, "When I die, I turn into one of 'em." he gestured at the walker that had managed to snag itself halfway across, but was still upright in the strong current.

"Nothing serious then? That's reassuring." smiling, she closed her eyes, wriggled closer, rubbing a foot against his side, digging her toes into his waistband. She heard a crack and a moan and he jumped to his feet, casting a shadow over her. She opened her eyes to see him at the edge of the water, watching the broken walker bundled downstream by the rapid current.

"The river bank's too steep over this side to climb, even if it washes up further along," he gestured downstream, " I think we're good for a bit."

"'S good. Safety first," she made a mock serious face at him. Eyes like stars, lips stained by the raspberries.

He looked down at her in the blossom strewn grass. A silver nymph. She stretched her arms above her head and arched her back, she glowed in the sun, the peach silk almost obscene, shimmering over every curve and hollow. He stood looking at her with hooded eyes, his thumb pulling at his lower lip.

"Making fun of me for looking out for your ass, huh?" He dropped down beside her again, plucking a feathery stalk of grass and tapping it on her cheek, trailing it down her neck and between her breasts.

"No, sir. I owe you my life," she puffed at the grass, squirmed," a couple of 'em, at least."

"You wanna stay out here, pussycat? Or go back to bed?"

"Fuck me by the river?"

She opened her eyes, looked up at him. His face blank, animal, he pulled her up to sit in his lap. She wrapped her legs around his waist and he stripped off her dress with relish, throwing it aside and pulling her close,

He ran his hands up her back, skimming her own scars, the little craters of cigarette burns, so regular they seemed to dot her skin like lace. He was shocked and then ashamed, becoming clumsy, unsure.

She laid her head on his shoulder, ran her hands slowly, firmly up his carved arms and shoulders, finding the tension in his muscles and working her fingers into the knots. The sun ignited the tawny hair on his arms, his chest. His beard glittered. Musky perspiration gathered minutely on the moles on his upper lip, she breathed him in, wet her lips in his musk, dipped her head to lick and suck at a nipple. He whimpered audibly and she moaned in reply, swapping to the other side, scratching and plucking at the other.

She pulled back from him and held his face in her hands. His feline eyes were dark and flickering with lust, nostrils flared, lips swollen, almost sneering.

"You are so beautiful," she whispered, dragging her fingers over his scalp and tangling them in the hair at the back of his neck. He winced at the words but rolled his head back with pleasure.

"Stop," he said, holding her chin in his hand and pulling her into another languid kiss, wary of the cut on his lip, dipping and stroking at her perfect, pastel mouth , he groaned as she sucked at his tongue, his cock swelling at the memory of that hot, sweet blow-job she'd given him earlier.

She dug her hands into his belt, unbuckling it, pulling the dome open and the zip down in one eager move. She dug her feet into his waistband and together they shrugged off his jeans so they were both naked in the long grass on the riverbank, blossoms of the palest pink like confetti around them.

He didn't check to find out if she was ready for him when he lifted her up by her waist to hover over his wet, swollen tip. He lowered her, pushing his thick, curved cock into her in exquisite increments, so she squirmed and rolled her hips, gouging her fingers into his shoulders as he kissed her breasts, tugged at her nipples with his finger tips and mouth, making her sigh and moan.

They'd both thought about it so many times, but it was almost too much for him, she was so hot and wet for him, gripping him tight. He wasn't going to last long. He leaned back on his hands and threw his head back,lost in bliss, as she started to move on top of him. He groaned, collected himself and sat up, flipped her onto her back and entered her hard, pulling back slowly and pushing in deep, grinding his hips into her until she began to moan. she wrapped her legs around him, pulled him in closer, harder, grabbing his ass in her hands.

"Don't think you're gonna get that long, slow screw you asked for, sweetheart," he breathed in her ear.

She writhed under him, all sensation, time slowed down as she wound herself decadently around him, her faun, her lover. He looked at her, she was flushed and beautiful, her face lost in pleasure, in love. The river sparkled, roaring in her ears, and she fell apart under him as he came hard into her.

He collapsed, groping for her hand with his head buried in her neck, lazily nipping and kissing her until the tickle of his beard became too much for her and she pushed him off her with a grunt.

They curled up together and dozed, like lions in the sun. In the humming air, listening to the river roar, the blossoms bruised and brown all around.


	3. Chapter 3

"Hey, Sleeping Beauty," she opened her eyes and Daryl was dragging on his jeans. He tossed her the silk dress, "C'mon, it's going to rain."

Carol looked up at the sky and shivered. She remembered him telling her to look at how high the birds flew in the sky, that when the air pressure dropped they flew low. She listened, the birds in the trees had stopped singing.

"A storm?' She pulled the dress over her head, dusted off the wilted blossoms.

"Could be. Moon's been so bright," he held out his hand to help her up, hugged her to him briefly and led her back to the house just as the first big, wet raindrops fell.

She guessed that there were still plenty of houses like this; places that were almost untouched, it was just that she hadn't seen one in a while; they'd had to go further and further out to find places that hadn't been thoroughly looted when they went out on runs. There hadn't been a lot of food in the house, though. Mainly dry goods that they'd take with them when they left, a couple of jars of preserves.

She felt as though the couple who had lived there had been expecting a baby, but that was just an educated guess. There were no baby clothes, no cradle. No photos. It was something about the effort that had been put into making the house comfortable, like a place where they would have to be. She could see that they'd spent some time before that making it a sophisticated place, with grey paintwork and polished floors, well appointed bookshelves, danish furniture and persian rugs. It made her think of Michonne, somehow.

"Daryl?"

It had become so cold that Daryl was building a fire in the pot-belly stove. Overhead thunder cracked, he couldn't hear her at first.

"Daryl," she repeated, " Did you find out if Michonne had kids?"

He looked up at her, " Huh? She wasn' sayin' so, but yeah, I think so."

He didn't need to go into how he knew, he could see ghosts, she had the same ghost. Like Tyreese had said:

"The whole world is haunted now."

Searching through the cupboards, she had pulled out treasure. A gallon jar of raw honey and a CD player, with batteries. She knew that they needed batteries, but her desire to hear music was so strong it felt like an urge that was as ancient as wanting to fuck Daryl. She couldn't see any other CDs but the blank one in the player, "Season of the Witch/ Matt, I love you, Lara 2003" was scrawled in black Sharpie.

She pressed play as he finished stoking up the fire and jogged upstairs to put on a shirt, "You want your jacket?" he called. A song she didn't recognise filled the room. 60s, she guessed. A psychedelic bloom unfurled in the room. A woman's voice, dirty and raw:

H_e's as heavy as a lead weight, baby_

_He's as skinny as a wire_

_He's a prophet of a new day, baby_

_He's a keeper of the fire_

"Uh, no," she turned up the volume and padded up the stairs after him, there had been something she'd seen in the closet, another luxury. She felt suddenly shy with him in the bedroom. Like they were children, playing at being a couple. She opened the closet and pulled out a red mohair dress and put in on over the peach silk. She had thought that it would be a big, cosy sweater, but it was a far more sensuous fit, clinging to her hips and waist, the wide, low neckline slipping off her tanned shoulder, she felt a little embarrassed, especially when he said,

"Quite the fashion parade."

Seeing her blush, he came over to stand behind her in front of the mirror, putting his hands on her hips and dragging his lips over her neck to breathe in her ear, " You look beautiful," he caught her earlobe between his teeth, "very," ran his hands up over her ribs to her breasts, "very," he ground his erection against her "very fuckable." She moved to turn around and he stopped her, holding her tighter, making her watch him in the mirror groping at her, biting and licking at her neck, pulling up her dress over her milky thighs.

"Don't move," he growled and dropped to his knees in front of her. Steadying her with his firm, strong grip, he draped one of her trembling legs over his shoulder and buried his head in her damp curls, inhaling her heady scent. He drove his tongue into her, the taste of his cum in her only turning him on more. Fuck, he wasn't squeamish, nobody could accuse Daryl Dixon of being a picky eater.

_He can see a-seven devils, baby..._

She let herself relax completely into his incredible strength and gave into the feeling that he was holding her up by his hot, wet, hungry mouth alone.

_Been haunted like a razor, baby_

_He's been tested in the blood_

_He's a walker on the hot coals, baby_

_And he's a-heavenly bound_

She knew he was no virgin, everything about him told her that, but she had been taken aback by his confidence, it was as if a switch had been thrown. She knew that she was capable of being brazen, but she was so happy he was able to take control too, so that she didn't need to coax and coach him into getting what he wanted from this.

_I saw him walkin' in the valley, baby_

_I could see him through the trees_

_I saw him talkin' to the moon there, baby_

_He was walkin' on his knees_

He devoured her, completely uninhibited, grunting with the same animal appreciation that had turned her on when she cooked for him. She looked at their intertwined forms in the mirror; a dirty angel kneeling before her, his shaggy head wedged between her porcelain thighs, the burnished branches of his arms bracing her as she swooned above him. Eros and Psyche. She looked out the window at the river bank, it was raining so hard that it pooled in the hollow they had made in the long grass before it drained away into the rising river.

_He can play it like a rainbow, baby_

_He can play it like a clown_

_He can play it like a river, baby_

_And he can follow you down._

She'd resigned herself to being his a long time ago, whether he wanted her or not. The warmth from the fire in the stove was suddenly overwhelming, she stripped off the peach silk and the red wool, resting one hand on his shoulder and the other dipping her fingertips into his ravenous mouth. She came, full of the song and the river and the rain, with him at the center of her.

_He's as heavy as a lead weight, baby_

_He's as skinny as a wire_

_He's a prophet of a new day, baby_

_He's a keeper of the fire_

As she collected herself, the next track began, a song that he was familiar with. He stood up, wiping his beard over her belly. He dragged her to him, almost in a trance.

_You let me violate you,_

_you let me desecrate you_

_You let me penetrate you,_

_you let me complicate you_

She winced at the words. He held her close, standing very still. Leaned his forehead against hers, his eyes burned into her, waiting.

_Help me I broke apart my insides,_

_help me I've got no soul to sell_

_Help me the only thing that works for me,_

_help me get away from myself_

_I want to fuck you like an animal_

_I want to feel you from the inside_

He kissed her hard. Hungry, almost desperate. Fuck, he wanted to bury himself in her. Stay inside her forever. Picking her up he carried her to the bed, her legs wrapped around him.

"Fuck me from behind, because I love it," she breathed in his ear

The angle always felt so good, she didn't care about the politics. She wanted to feel him fuck her as hard as he could.

_I want to fuck you like an animal_

_My whole existence is flawed_

_You get me closer to God_

"Do I have to say please?" she asked.

He dragged his hands over his face, drowsy with confusion, desire. She wasn't a fragile little thing, he couldn't break her. She climbed onto the bed on all fours.

He clambered up behind her, she rolled her hips, arched her back and waited. Kneeling behind her he tugged on his cock, nudging against her entrance, spreading his hands, his thumbs spreading her lips, his fingers fanning out over her creamy, heart-shaped ass, he groaned as he thrust into her hot, velvet core. God, he felt so good, filling her up completely. She tilted her hips up so his balls slapped against her clit with each stroke.

_You can have my isolation,You can have the hate that it brings_

_You can have my absence of faith,_

_You can have my everything_

He fucked her as slowly as was humanly possible for a man who felt as if his cock was on fire. The song resonated through him, the emptiness until he'd found her. Craving for her, but the time had never been right. He twined his fingers in the hair at the back of her head, pulled her up so he could kiss her, look into her eyes for a moment before he pushed her back down onto all fours, stroking and teasing her breasts as if he were making the sign for money on her tips.

_Help me tear down my reason,_

Help me it's your sex I can smell

Help me you make me perfect,

Help me become somebody else

She rolled her hips, wriggled up against him, taking him in deep as he buried himself in her. He spread her with his hands and watched his cock slide in and out as slowly as he was able, her sighs and moans making him lose his mind he fucked her as deep and fast and hard as he could, the whole house shook, she coiled and spasmed around him and he came hard, collapsing over her, annihilated by his orgasm, by her. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her slowly, gratefully.

"This is too good," he said, "You are too good," he chewed at his healing lip.

She looked at him, eyes sparkling, she could tell he wanted to say more. He dropped his gaze, she could feel a wave of doubt, of fear rising in him.

She waited a beat and said,

"I love you, you know that, right?"

He grimaced, winding himself around her tighter still, his eyes wet.

"I was really fuckin' scared after you left," he finally said.

"I didn't leave," she started to say, but stopped herself.

She hadn't been thinking about him, it was true. She'd been trying to keep him out of her thoughts for so long, she had almost pushed him to the same shadowy part of her mind Ed inhabited. She didn't know if it was disappointment that she felt, but loving him had become completely abstract. She closed her eyes and listened:

_Well I don't have to be nobody's fool_

_I won't make no exception of you_

_I don't have to be nobody's fool_

_I don't make no exception of you_

_I don't have to crawl_

_I can just walk away_

He told her about losing Beth at the funeral home, about Joe's gang.

"Was so close to just giving up, " he sighed, " I know I ain't the most upbeat fucker at the party at the best of times, but I'd never thought I might want to give up, y' know?"

_I don't have to get down on my knees._

She wound herself around him, held him in silence until he stopped shaking.

"I'm sorry I let him make that decision," she said, rolling over to lie on her back, looking out at the rain.

"But I'm here now. We're here now, together. Might not have happened if we hadn't been apart…"

"I'd made up my mind, Carol," he said, his voice raw, "I was going to… fuck, I don't know what I was going to do, but it was going to be something," he sighed. The thought had terrified him, "Maybe, Jesus…"

_I don't have to crawl_

_I can just walk away_

_No I don't have to crawl_

She reached out for his hand, kissed it.

"Hey angel. Thank you for being here," she stroked his hair, " Let's eat something, huh? Change the music. Can you believe this is a romantic mixtape?"

"Love's a bitch. Seems about right," she slapped at him, playfully, glad he was smiling again. She hoped it would last.

_No, I don't have to crawl_

**_NOTES ON THE SONGS IN THIS CHAPTER_**

_Keeper of the Fire by Buffy St. Marie watch?v=1dLXAk0qli4_

_Closer by Nine Inch Nails /3554226 **(NOTE: This video might be disturbing to sensitive viewers - nudity, implied BDSM and implied mistreatment of animals)**_

_I Don't Have To Crawl by Emmy-Lou Harris watch?v=WW-wwHLcZeI_

**_No copyright infringement is intended_**


	4. Chapter 4

**WARNING! Angsty Daryl P.O.V. of his previous sexual relationships. **

**Trigger warning for domestic abuse and implied non-consensual sex.**

Daryl lay in bed, listening to the rain, listening to Carol downstairs in the kitchen.

Before she'd got up from the bed she'd wiped the slick of cum from his groin and thrown the covers over him, before massaging her fingertips through his hair and kissing him.

"I'll make us something to eat."

"I'll come. Keep watch." Propping himself up on his elbows.

"It's fine. We've checked the fences. If anything comes we'll get plenty of warning. Keep the bed warm for me." Smiling, she pushed him back down into the soft bed. He grunted in protest, but stayed put.

He listened to the rain, to the thump of his blood. The scent of her on the sheets, in his beard, on his fingers...

He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so relaxed with a woman. So good.

His eyes flickered to the window, the sky grey and the river churning, almost black in the fading light.

Mitch had been almost twice his age when he started living with her. Sex had seemed like salvation at the time. Taking him out of his brutal life among men. He was barely more than 17 at the time and she had had a 2 year-old son and an ex who she got back with 6 months later. Beat the shit out of him too, after he'd tried to talk to her at work. Cried in front of her and her boss.

He cringed at the memory.

His pride was all he had after that. He certainly didn't get any sympathy from Merle.

He'd resolved to never let another woman make him feel that way again. Pussy-whipped. Cunt-struck.

Heartbroken wasn't even a word he could say in his head.

Looking back, he couldn't blame her. She was fragile, confused. Terrified of being alone. Tiny little thing with pretty eyes. Like Carol. Meeting her had brought up a whole lot of feelings he'd thought he'd buried for good.

Buried by getting trashed every night. By fucking a different woman every week.

His body had been a target for violence so many times that he had been shocked that women wanted to give him pleasure. That he could use his body as something other than a weapon.

"Baby bro, you've come on a real BAY-ITCH magnet!" Merle had hooted, "Ain't never goin' ta have ta worry about keepin' that tiny li'l dick wet!."

It wasn't just women, either; he'd broken the nose of a guy in a McDonald's restroom, who he saw afterwards in the parking lot, getting into his car where his wife and kids had been waiting for him.

Empty handed, blood streaming down his face.

He'd felt bad after that, for upsetting the woman, the kids. Even the dude.

Sex just seemed to ruin everyone's lives.

Sowing his wild oats had been fun for a while, sure, but he'd grown tired of the inevitable drama, the demands and the tears and the bars where he couldn't show his face anymore.

Then there were the ones he let get under his skin - birds with broken wings, all of them. He had a type, he guessed - Leah, who was with Merle until she'd crawled into his bed one night, all salty tears and tattoos of tiny stars and bluebirds that trailed from under her ear to the hollow between her belly and her hip, murmuring that she loved him in that smoky whisper that turned him on so much. That had been a bad scene. In the end he'd had to choose and there had been no choice that he could make but to choose blood.

Bros before hos.

After Sierra he'd stayed away from women for the most part.

Merle was always telling him she was a crazy bitch and that he'd been provoked as well as blind drunk, but he'd shoved her, hard. She'd started bleeding a couple of days later and she told him that she'd missed her period a couple of months. He'd taken her to the Emergency Room and walked outside for a smoke and had just kept walking. Even though he'd heard a year later that it would have happened anyway, that the baby was never going to live, he figured she was better off without him. Figured he had as little control over the violence in his blood as some closet trying to have sex with a stranger in a McDonald's restroom.

Merle had had a warrant out on him at the time and they'd camped out in the woods for months.

It had just become a way of life, after that.

He'd almost hit her too, on the farm. Carol. Pushed Beth around, too, when a day before he'd resolved to talk with Carol because he'd convinced himself that he could be gentle with her always.

What a douche.

Some man of honour.

He'd probably just convinced himself out of lust, because of that night a couple of days before everything had gone to shit.

Less than two weeks ago, fuck, so much had happened...

He'd got back after a run later than usual and everyone was in bed for the night.

Walking past Carol's cell, he'd heard tiny, muffled noises. He usually found it difficult to pass by her cell without stopping and now was no different. He peeked through the gap in the sheet that she hung up for privacy…

The moon was full and silver light traced her form on the bed. The night was warm and she had thrown off the covers to her navel. Hypnotised, he gathered in the points of light that revealed her wet, sighing mouth, the tips of her breasts, the skin that never saw the sun as luminous as silk… and the hand that was moving, very slowly, with tiny movements underneath the covers.

He swallowed, summoning up all of his practice at silence, although he was having difficulty breathing right. He looked around the cell block. It was the middle of the night. He was upstairs.

No-one would see him.

It wasn't the first time he'd seen her naked, living at such close quarters, it was almost unavoidable, but this… this was a treat.

Fuck it if he wasn't going to enjoy the show.

He shifted to lean against the bars and settle in to watch. As he did, he was rewarded with a grunt and a flurry of blankets as she threw the covers entirely off the bed. Now she was spread-eagled on the bed, completely naked; she moistened the fingers of one hand and played with a nipple - little beads of light like a dusting of sugar - while the other skimmed lazy circles over her clit… a word on her lips…

"Unh… Daryl… "

Jesus was that his name?

He stifled a groan, shifted his erection in his jeans, loosening his belt buckle so he could slide his hand in...

He'd been ashamed of himself at how close he'd come to pouncing on her… he'd heard someone in the nearby cell stirring, climbing out of bed… he darted back to the perch and scrambled under his bedding. It probably took less than a minute to jerk himself off. Afterwards he lay there feeling dirty and dejected, sticky semen cooling on his stomach. Usually it would be all he would need to do to get to sleep but that night he'd lain awake, thinking on her with a feeling that he couldn't identify, an emptiness that was almost physically painful.

The business of staying alive was exhausting enough that sex hadn't been something that had taken up a lot of his brain since The Turn, but now that they had some security, some respite from the constant vigilance, his mind had begun to wander. His nightly fantasies at first were little more than a pornographic forest of faceless bodies of women from his past and even though he'd jerked off over Carol as long ago as the quarry, at that time she'd just been part of a many-headed hydra that included Mitch and Andrea, Amy, Lori, Jacqui…

Any woman would do.

But then she became the one to tip him over the edge every time.

It wasn't just her body he thought about. She was his friend, too. His family.

The way she would look at him when he'd get back in one piece from looking for The Governor with Michonne. Eyes wet with tears of gratitude. It broke his resolve to keep going out there. He told himself it was futile, a lost cause. Michonne was pissed. He'd shut her down when she'd mentioned Carol's name.

The time he spent with Carol was always the best part of his day. If he didn't see her for a day or two, his mood would darken. There was just something about the way she would say, " Come sit with me a while" that would make him feel as if he had luxury in his life.

It wasn't just that he'd wanted to step into her cell and fuck her brains out that night. He wanted to crawl into bed next to her and feel her close. Hear her lovely voice, like a silver river in his ear, feel her warm breath on his skin. Make her thighs tremble and quake with every little trick he had in his repertoire. Make her giggle.

She deserved it to have someone make her feel good. The thought of it being anyone other than him made his blood boil.

Jesus… he was slow. It wasn't rocket science.

He had fallen for her.

Carol had turned the music down, but the words were still clear, even with the rain beating down on the roof, the fire in the stove and the clacking and clinking and sizzling in the kitchen...

_The wait has been satisfied_

_I'm not jerking to lose my mind again_

_I'm not smart enough to fake it_

_No fool could fake a feeling this good_

_C'mon girl, lets walk_

_Through this perverted world_

He closed his eyes for a moment and must have fallen asleep because he didn't hear her come up the stairs with their meal.

"Hey," she ran her fingers through his hair, " Dinner's ready."

He opened his eyes, a little disorientated, "Must've dozed off…"

He sat up in bed and took the warm bowl of pasta and greens she offered him as she slipped under the covers to sit beside him.

He didn't know how she did it with so little, but the food was delicious, as ever.

"What were you dreaming about?" she asked.

"Huh?" a mouth full of spaghetti.

"Saw you twitching," she smiled mischievously, "Chasing rabbits?"

"Ha. Funny," he said, his face darkening, remembering the inventory he'd made of his romantic failures. How he'd been close to stepping into her cell that night… How he'd almost yanked Beth's arm out of her socket.

Carol raised an eyebrow, slurped up a wriggling worm of pasta.

" Maybe this isn't such a good idea."

The corner of Carol's mouth twitched up, eyebrows fixed, eyes still wide and full of humor, but blinking away a wet shine that hadn't been there moments earlier.

Daryl stared down into his bowl, feeling like an asshole.


	5. Chapter 5

Carol put her bowl aside on the bedside table where she'd placed a candle in a saucer. The flickering light picked out the objects there; a wooden comb, a shell, a little carving of a cat that looked as though a child had made it. She picked up the shell, turning it around in her hand, wondering at the seamlessness of the concave and the convex. The spiral of the calcified turret telling her everything she needed to know about the glossy pink intricacies of the interior.

She sighed, laughed softly.

"I didn't think I could do this either," she said finally.

She looked at him then, a little apprehensive that he would take flight, but he was still there, not going anywhere, even in his head. She could barely make out his expression in the light, but his eyes were on her. Tufts of his hair stuck up from lying in bed. Shiny with grease.

"I was never sure if it was just Ed that made things... bad between us,"

Daryl huffed, uncomfortable with that particular ghost joining them in the room.

She went on, regardless: "I've known how I felt about you for a while now. At first it was just… ha… dumb lust, I guess. I thought that maybe it could be something we could do to… as a distraction… " it was the wrong word, clumsy, but it was close enough.

"Then I, we… it was more than that. I didn't want to risk our friendship… and I..." she pressed the tip of her tongue into a molar to stop the tears,"I didn't want to find that I could lose myself again. You too...That we both know how to live with violence…"

"You were right not to trust me," he murmured, sadly

"It wasn't you as much as myself. What I might allow."

"Ain't seen you take any shit from anyone for a good long while. Never have from me."

"You've never pushed me, Daryl"

"Back at the farm? Yelled at you. Called you a bitch… " he said, adding quietly: "Almost hit you"

"But you didn't. I was never afraid of you. I know you could never hurt me."

"Hurt Beth. Dragged her around, yelled at her. Called her a dumb bitch."

Carol was silent. A tear finally gave way to gravity and dropped onto the shell in her hands. She massaged it into the surface. This is how it would look under the sea.

The rain had stopped and it was still. The world was so quiet now. No planes overhead, no car alarms, no traffic. Cars going past with booming speakers… all gone. She remembered being anxious about moving into a house on a busy street until a friend of hers said that the sound was exactly the same as waves on the beach. It was easy to get to sleep thinking of it that way.

He spoke again: "Ain't got a great track record with women. Done things I regret," he looked out the window, all she saw of his profile was the long flat curve of his cheek. The mole on his upper lip twitched, "Haven't done things I should've."

Her instinct was to tell him that he was a good man. That it didn't matter to her, the things he'd done. When of course it did matter. It should matter.

"What do you want, Daryl?" she said. Quiet, but direct. Searching the dark silhouette of his face. He shifted uneasily, putting aside the bowl of cold pasta that was still on his lap, placing it on the bedside table and dragging his hands over his face.

"Our pasts are part of us, Daryl," she continued, " I can't make you believe what I see in you," she was trembling now, " all I know is that I… I meant it when I said that I love you. I want this. You. Us. I am stronger than I ever thought I could be, but it doesn't mean that you can't break my heart."

"I want…" his voice was unsteady, was he crying too? She shifted away from the candle light so she could see him weak light played over the planes and hollows of his face, the sliver she could see of his eyes under the shadow of his brows was beaded and red. She reached out for his hand and he allowed it, rubbing his thumb in erratic circles on the back of her hand,

"I want to be with you, too, Carol. I just don't want to fuck it up. Can't make you any promises that I can be what you deserve."

"I don't need promises. You've given me more than I ever felt I deserved in the time we've known one another… I can't promise you that I won't fuck things up either," her eyes were huge and bright.

Those heartbreaking eyes that turned him inside out.

"I'm terrified," she said.

"Me too," he smiled weakly, looked into her eyes. An oasis in Hell. He ran his hands up her arms and pulled her closer till she straddled his lap, leaning her forehead against his.

"I'm sorry, baby. I shouldn't have said that," he said, looking up at her, searching her eyes to see if he'd done any real damage. Said anything that couldn't be unsaid. The tears had been wiped away and there was that beautiful smile that made him feel like a fucking rockstar. Christ, he'd been childish… ungrateful.

"Didn't mean to scare you," he dipped his head, following the column of her neck from her the hollow of her collar bone to just under her earlobe he breathed her in, his lower lip grazing and catching at the sensitive skin.

"You don't scare me, Daryl Dixon," she tipped her head back to give him better access to her neck, sinking into his lap with a slow grind of her hips.

"Unf… really?" his words buzzing against her warm skin, "when I could just rip your throat out with my teeth right now?" nipping at her, playful now.

"Oh my," wriggling down into his lap "You really are a bad man."

"I know. Got a bad sense of humour. No manners, neither. Thanks for dinner. Looks like I ruined it," glancing over at the half-eaten cold pasta.

"Doesn't matter. We've eaten worse than cold spaghetti for breakfast, right?"

"Hmmn,"rubbing the slippery fabric the dress up her body and over her head again, leaning her back a moment to drink in her naked body in the candlelight, "Eaten better too, " running his index finger down the centre of her body from her lower lip, down her long neck, between her breasts, dipping into her navel, over the crisp curls of her pubic mound and sliding it effortlessly into her slit all in one movement, pulling it out and putting it in his mouth.

"Oh, " she gasped and he leaned in, darting his tongue into her open mouth. She moaned, sucking at her own lingering flavour on his long, agile tongue. Hands sliding up slowly over every curve of his arms, feeling the muscles contract and lengthen as he drew her in closer, tighter.

His cock was hard and glistened at the tip. Licking her palm, she reached between them to grasp the shaft, but he gently took her wrist and pulled her hand away, his cock slapping up against his navel when she released it.

Her face fell for a moment. She looked away, confused, embarrassed.

"Hey,"

He tapped her on the chin and kissed her, a kiss as sweet as honey. Her eyes brimmed with tears again.

"Just wanna…"

Be close.

"...kiss you for a bit… 'Kay? " Pulling her tight up against him, his arms wrapped around her almost twice she was so tiny. Small but strong. Carol sniffled, nodded, She wound her hands around his neck, fingers kneading the knots there.

He kissed her so tenderly that it was unbearable.

Mapping her body with his fingertips so thoroughly that she couldn't remember a time when she'd been this physically intimate with a man.

Carol had been with other men besides Ed. She'd been in love with all of them. She couldn't separate sex from love even though as a younger woman she'd convinced herself that she could. It was all just bravado in the end. It didn't help that she was drawn to shy, sad men and it had meant that she'd spent much of her adult life feeling heart-broken.

She'd turned back to the church after a particularly torturous affair with an un-fixable boy. She'd tried to go against type with Ed. He'd seemed so confident and sure of himself. He'd made her feel like she was the only woman in the world for a while. She was ashamed to admit it, but his possessiveness had made her feel wanted at first. More than any of those sweet, unsure boys who frightened so easily.

A log popped loudly in the stove downstairs and they broke apart, startled by the noise.

"Listen to that." she said

"Hmm," back to kissing her, on the neck," just the fire."

"No, listen," she said "It's so quiet. I haven't heard them since we've been here." At the prison, in the woods, the walkers were always there, their low moaning as ever-present as the sound of crickets.

"Yeah," he said," Feels wrong, almost. I keep feeling as if I'm forgetting something. Under some kind of spell."

"I am. Being here with you feels as if we could be on another planet," she said.

He was silent, wishing he hadn't been so morose, that he could find words to talk about this bliss with her.

Suddenly he was done with kissing. Just needed to be inside her. Pushed her down into the bed and entered her and she purred. Unfurled like a flower.

It wasn't like the other times. They had a feel for their fit now, for a rhythm and more than that.

It was so slow. His strokes were almost languid; withdrawing until the head of his cock was resting against her entrance for a moment and then gliding slowly back in, until he was buried deep inside of her. His pace was so even, almost mechanical, that it felt as though he might fuck her like this eternally. Even though it was gentle and slow it became the most exquisite torture, especially when he held her hands above her head and murmured in her ear:

"Don' move. Let's just pretend I've tied you up…"

She sometimes saw things when she would come with a lover, or feel sensations as if she was somewhere else alone, like lying in a meadow of flowers with the sun on her skin.

She came with him and she was all of the ocean, clean and pure on the poisoned Earth. He was gravity, the tide, murmuring low in one ear and then the other:

"I love you, baby. I love you."

**FIN**

**Thank you all for your kind words and support!**

**I appreciate it so much! **

**This is my first ever fic and it's been so lovely to get such a good response from the Caryl fandom. **

**I'm not sure if I'll continue, but I'm open to being encouraged! **

**Thank you all again and **

**CARYL ON, beautiful people!**


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